


Smoke and Mirrors

by Freya_Ishtar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eater Charlie Weasley, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Horcrux Hunt, Romance, UST, canon-divergent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-03 23:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17293514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_Ishtar/pseuds/Freya_Ishtar
Summary: *Canon-Divergent AU* When Charlie Weasley offers himself to the Dark Lord's service in secret, he hopes it'll save his family from Voldemort's wrath. He doesn't plan for complications—like how deep into the darkness he'll sink, or how far he'll go to get what he wants when he finds himself falling for his little brother's girlfriend. SPORADIC UPDATES





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> 1) Thank you to Murrilicious1316. She posted in DEE asking for de!Weasley stories the other week, and that sparked an idea for Charlie to go to the Darkside. At the time, I wasn't free to announce this as an Upcoming Fic, as I'd promised that I would not make any more such posts until I had at least one of my WIPs finished. I vented about not being able to say anything in my writers' group, where Gajevyaddict saw my post and caught a de!Weasley plunnie, herself. She hadn't known that my Weasley of choice was Charlie, so when I told her, she messaged me and we discussed our plots, assuring one another that the stories are dissimilar enough that we will not step on each other's toes. Her de!Charmione fic has since been published under the title When Good Goes Bad for those who'd like to check it out. Author vexmybones on A03 may soon be writing a de!Charlie fic, as well, so keep your eyes peeled, people (but, like, not literally, please gods, don't peel your eyeballs!)!
> 
> 2) Story is canon-divergent AU starting from Bill & Fleur's wedding (possibly with some background info/events deviating from canon, as well, we shall see together 😉). Hermione's outfit in this story's opening is taken from chapter 8 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (appropriately titled The Wedding) rather than the film.
> 
> Fancasts [in no particular order, and no guarantee they will appear]:
> 
> Ben Dahlhaus (with red hair) as Charlie Weasley; Tom Hiddleston as Remus Lupin; Alexander Skarsgard as Lucius Malfoy; Charlize Theron as Narcissa Malfoy; Jason Momoa as Fenrir Greyback; Michiel Huisman as Antonin Dolohov; Chris Hemsworth as Thorfinn Rowle. *Any roles not listed are portrayed by their film actors.
> 
> DISCLAIMER:
> 
> I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit, in any form, from the production of this work.

**Chapter One**

"Charlie!"

He wanted to kick himself when he felt his expression brighten at the mere sound of her voice. Even more so at the little thrill that coursed through him as he turned to see her running up to him. The floaty lilac dress and matched high heels she wore for the occasion suited her _too_  well, making her appear angelic while also drawing the eye to those curves that alerted anyone who was paying attention to the fact that Hermione Granger was  _far_ from a child, anymore.

Before he could react, the witch had thrown herself on him in a tight hug, forcing a breathed  _Oof_ out of him.

Chuckling, he closed his arms around her, returning the embrace. He doubted her feet were even touching the floor, though the mental image of the toes of her shoes dangling as she hung off him like some sort of ornament was adorably amusing.

"Someone's happy to see me," he said, smirking. He pulled back his arms to slide his hands over her hips and set her on her feet.

She beamed at him. "Of course I am. With, well, with everything happening, no one was quite sure you'd be here." She was positive the memories he had of her—being that nosy fifteen year old who kept sneaking out to the dragon enclosure to pepper him with questions about the magnificent creatures whenever he had a free moment to spare for her—weren't nearly as impactful as the recollections she had of him.

There were occasions among those secret, stolen moments during her fourth year that she wondered if she might not be developing a crush on him. But then her heart had been troubled enough that year with Viktor's attentions and Ron's tantrums that she had really believed it best to ignore any such inklings about the wizard who was  _certainly_  too old for her at the time. Now, as she stood before him, mere weeks until her 18th birthday, the six and a half years that separated them didn't seem nearly as wide a gap as they had back then.

He arched a brow at her moment of quiet contemplation. Any longer of her staring up at him in silence like this might cause him to give something away in his own expression. "Are you all right, Hermione? Your cheeks look a bit flushed."

Backpedaling a step, she touched her hands to her face. Oh, dear, her skin did feel a bit warm. No, no, she couldn't possibly be blushing . . . and it couldn't possibly be because in her reminiscing she'd be unable to avoid glimpsing that time he'd had to take off his robes due to one of his charges upending their water trough on him. She'd just been slipping into the enclosure when he was stripped down to his smallclothes, toweling off and laughing. When he noticed her, she was frozen in place staring at him, and he seemed entirely oblivious to the affect his appearance in that moment would have on a teenage girl.

"Oh, I'm fine," she said with a dismissive wave. "Just . . . so much going on today, I'm running about like mad woman."

"Well, don't get yourself too worn out." He winked at her. "I expect you to save me a dance at the reception."

"Of—of course I will!" Swallowing hard, she nodded, perfectly aware she was smiling up at him like an idiot.

For a moment as he stared down at her, Charlie found himself at a complete loss for what to say next. As he finally opened his mouth to tell her something more—he did want to mention how lovely she looked—he cut himself off with a hissing breath. Before he was aware he'd moved, he clamped his right hand over his left forearm.

He still wasn't quite used to the unpleasant sensation prickling his skin beneath the leather bracer.

Hermione was all too familiar with this sort of response, and knew well that poor Charlie had received a rather nasty burn on that arm sometime ago. "Are you all right? Is it your scar?"

The unexpected burst of pain had caused him to momentarily forget his surroundings. "What?" he asked in a confused whisper.

With a sympathetic frown, she tipped her head to one side. "Your burn scar? Harry reacts the same way when his hurts. I understand it's not  _quite_  the same thing, but I know severe burns can still smart for years after they've healed."

Trying to be helpful, she reached for his wrist. The way he wrenched his arm away from her fingers caused her to jump.

"Sorry," he said, feeling a bit guilty for startling her, and guiltier, still, for the look of hurt that flickered across her face. "It's just . . . sensitive. I've got some salve for the pain, I'll just go deal with this."

"Okay." She nodded, forcing a smile. "Well, go on then. But hurry up. Wedding's going to start soon. People  _will_  notice if the best man is late."

Snickering, he returned her nod, thoughtlessly lifting his hand to brush her cheek. "Promise I'll be right back."

As he turned and walked away, he missed that she once again looked startled. Missed how she darted her gaze about as she lifted her own hand, her fingertips tracing over the spot he'd just touched.

* * *

All the way, until he'd managed to duck out of sight, he grumbled under his breath about the Dark Lord's awful timing. Glancing around to be certain no one would see him, he Apparrated, following the pull of the hidden Mark on his arm.

Appearing at the gates of Malfoy Manor, Charlie chewed at the inside of his lip to hold in any sounds of aggravation. He ignored the presence of, well, pretty much any of the darkly-cloaked figures around him as he made his way up long walk to the imposing edifice's double doors. Though, it did make him wonder . . . had Voldemort chosen this place because it was adequately sized to act as a base of operations? Because it was simply part of showing off the hold he had on a powerful family like the Malfoys?

Or was it simply because the place was creepy as shit? The snake-like wizard  _did_  seem a fan of creepy aesthetics, after all.

As he'd hoped, his mental rambling saw him to approaching the manor, climbing the steps, and entering the foyer without giving himself time to wonder on worse, larger things. He refrained from rolling his eyes at the sad show his so-called fellows made. Charlie had to assume a false-front when he was here, groveling the way they did, but he felt no true fealty to the Dark Lord as they did.

He had only come here in recent weeks to pledge himself in service. Had only offered to return the Weasley name to the sort of 'glory' Voldemort and his ilk imagined for all the Sacred Twenty-Eight families because it suited his own purpose.

As he wound through the enormous house, he slammed his defenses into place. The Dark Lord was terrifyingly skilled at Legilimency, the last thing he needed was for the horrible creature to glean that he was less-than-loyal. He was only here so that  _someone_  might be in a position to protect his loved ones if Harry failed.

His entire family seemed  _so_ sure the boy would succeed in ending Voldemort that none of them had planned for the less-savory alternative, despite how very possible it was. Charlie  _wanted_ to have faith in Harry, too, but it wasn't so simple. He knew they wouldn't thank him for this if Voldemort won the War—betraying them to save them and all that—but he couldn't leave it to chance, either.

And, if Voldemort did lose, then they never need know about how deeply he'd involved himself with the enemy.

As he reached the floor before the Dark Lord's seat, he stopped himself just short of worrying what would become of  _her_  in a world were Voldemort made the rules.

If anyone could protect themselves it was Hermione Granger. That aside, she was practically Ron's girlfriend. He should leave her safety to his brother to worry about, shouldn't he?

Lowering himself to one knee, he waited for his _master_  to speak.

"Tell me, has there been any sign of him, yet?"

"No, My Lord. Most of the Order _is_  present, but I've yet to see Harry Potter there." Well, it wasn't actually a lie. He knew Harry was there, polyjuiced into some fictional Weasley cousin, but the boy had taken the potion  _before_  Charlie had seen him, so technically . . . ? "Word has it he's already gone into hiding."

A familiar voice scoffed from somewhere else in the room.

Charlie turned his head to glare at Severus Snape over his shoulder.

Smirking, Voldemort waved a hand in the direction of Hogwarts' new headmaster. "Severus? You have something to add?"

"Not to add, My Lord, but a question for Weasley."

"Ask what you will," the Dark Lord said with another sweep of his bony fingers through the air.

"Did you see your youngest brother and Miss Granger there?"

Just barely keeping himself from forcing a gulp down his throat at the mention—he prayed he was not about to be tasked with bringing them here as bait for Harry—Charlie nodded. "Yes."

"Then Potter _is_  there, somewhere." Severus looked nearly like a Malfoy for a moment in the way he sneered as he spoke. "Your brother follows him around like some sort of love-starved pet, and neither of  _them_ could find their arse with both hands unless Miss Granger drew them a map!"

There was a snickering from around the room—with the exception of the aforementioned Malfoys, who sat off by themselves, looking about as though they wanted to be anywhere else but inside their own home, just now. Charlie had to brace himself against the bristling he felt at hearing his little brother's friendship with Harry, and his intellect, mocked that way.

Instead, he forced out a perfectly calm answer. "Be that as it may, Snape, I have yet to see him there. If he _is_  present, he's hiding."

Leaning forward in his seat, Voldemort caught Charlie's jaw in his cold, unforgiving fingers and forced the younger wizard's head around to look up at him.

"You will keep a steady eye out for  _any_  trace of Harry Potter," the Dark Lord said in a lethal whisper. "The second he shows himself, you know what to do."

Charlie nodded, aware there were plans in play at the Ministry, already. He was not privy to what those plans were, specifically, nor did he dare ask.

"You are dismissed."

Nodding once more, Charlie stood, offering a sweeping bow before turning on his heel. As he made his way back through the manor's first floor, he became aware of footfalls—rather determined ones, at that—trailing him.

Plastering a look of weary disinterest on his face, he whirled to meet his pursuer. His shoulders slumped, unimpressed to find the miserable scowl of Severus Snape staring back at him.

"Just so you know, Weasley," the dark-haired wizard said in a low, hissing murmur, "I do  _not_ trust you."

His eyebrows shooting upward, Charlie barked out a surprised laugh. "Nor I you,  _Severus_."

The severity of his expression lessening, Snape gave him a quick once over. Dropping his voice lower, still, he said, "Good. Keep it that way. You'll live longer."

Blue eyes narrowing, Charlie watched his former professor turn and stalk away. Was it . . . was it possible Snape knew his pledge of servitude was insincere? He supposed it didn't matter, since Snape had no proof, nor did it sound as though he was about to go running to the Dark Lord with his suspicions, whatever those might be.

Cognizant, suddenly, of just how long he'd been here, Charlie rushed the rest of the way to the edge of the grounds. He Apparated, managing to get back to the Burrow just in time to claim his place beside Bill as Fleur made her entrance.

His gaze found Hermione's among the pews—though he could swear he hadn't actually been looking for her—and she made a show of tapping an imaginary watch on her wrist. She seemed, however, unable to help the smirk curving her lips as she gestured.

Smiling as he rolled his eyes at her, he shrugged. When she bit her lip to hold back a laugh at his flippant demeanor over his almost-tardiness, Charlie was quite sure he felt a resounding thump in the center of his chest.

And the sensation was definitely in response to the smiling face of the witch who currently held his attention.

The witch who was practically Ron's girlfriend.

_Shit_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The café scene is a little different from how it played out in canon. Though, I think it's kind of a given that there will be canon and non-canon events mixed together, as well as canon events with non-canon twists to them in this story. There may even be some moments from *brace yourselves* film-canon over book-canon in this. All depends what the story calls for.

**Chapter Two**

He almost laughed out loud as he noticed the way Ron all but wrenched Hermione out of her seat to go dance with him. Anything to get her away from Viktor Krum. Yet, the witch seemed so elated by the attention—something that she was clearly unaccustomed to, at least in this measure—that she didn't appear to notice that his little brother's gesture was fueled by jealousy.

Charlie closed his eyes, pinching tiredly at the bridge of his nose. He loved his brother, but if the only time Ron could show her he cared was when there was obvious competition, she was going to go from 'practically his girlfriend' to 'that girl who spits when she says his name.'

Though he hated it, he kept a steady eye on Harry. Well, a steady eye on 'cousin Barny.' Much to his relief, however, the polyjuiced visage was holding up seamlessly, giving no clear indication to any onlookers that something might be a miss.

At least his story to the Dark Lord that he hadn't  _seen_ any sign of Harry was still technically not a lie.

After several minutes of nearly mindless crowd-watching, his gaze traveled back to Hermione. Smiling and laughing as she whirled about the dance floor. Oh, but oh, poor Ron was being absolutely trounced by her as far as dance skills . . . or as far as anything resembling fluidly moving to the music.

Biting his lip to hold in another laugh, he decided it was probably about time he rescued her. With a shake of his head, he crossed to the middle of the dance floor.

Hermione's brows shot up, that bright smile of hers broadening as she saw him pop up beside them.

Tapping his already out of breath little brother on the shoulder, he grinned as Ron turned to face him. "May I cut in?"

Ron nodded, inhaling sharply. "Sure, um, if it's okay with Hermione."

The witch nodded back, trying not to seem too elated at her change in dance partners. She was absolutely not blushing at him again, she was not!

"You must be really working yourself up," Charlie said with another of those winks of his as Ron dragged himself away. "Your face is all pink."

"Well, dancing, you know?"

He only chuckled, trying not to give away that he was certain there was something more to it. He didn't want to make this awkward if he were wrong.

"Oh!" Almost immediately the girl stopped in place. "Your arm! Are you feeling better?"

"Hmm?" Remembering suddenly the fib he'd been forced to tell to explain his Mark burning earlier, he nodded. To prove his point, he rolled up the sleeve of his dress robes, showing the burn scar that appeared over the top of his black leather bracer and trailed up his elbow, ending in curled point on his bicep. "See? Good as new. You were right, it just randomly aches sometimes."

Before Hermione could stop herself, she'd reached out, brushing her hand along the skin just beside the burn. "It looks like it must've been so painful."

He was too aware of the drag of her fingertips against his arm. Swallowing hard, he nodded. "Of course it was," he managed with a laugh.

"How did it happen?" She looked up then, meeting his gaze. There was something in the way he was looking at her that had her forgetting to breathe for a blissful moment. "I . . . I mean, how did it happen _exactly_ , since, obviously, it was from one of your charges."

A smile curved up the corners of his mouth as he clearly tried not to laugh. "I'd like to say it was some brave tale of rescuing an adolescent dragon from peril." God, she still had her fingers trailing his skin and he had no desire to do anything that might make her stop. "But the truth is . . . I sneezed."

Her brows shot up, a shocked giggle bubbling out of her. "What?"

Charlie rolled his eyes a little. "Well, the moral of the story is  _never_  startle a sleeping dragon."

Hermione shook her head, letting out a hearty laugh at the embarrassing truth. "So much for mystery?"

He shrugged, dropping his gaze to her trailing fingers. "To be fair . . . . You're the only one who knows that story."

The witch beamed up at him. "What? Really? Well, makes me feel sort of special, then."

"As you should."

Silence fell between them and she was suddenly, acutely aware of how close they stood. Acutely aware of how close together they stood . . . . Of her continued touch on his arm.

Of how he made no move to stop her.

Lifting her attention to his face, she thought she must be imagining things as he seemed strangely awestruck. He watched her fingertips dancing across the skin around his scar in delicate strokes again and again, and he looked absolutely mesmerized by it.

It felt as though the bustle and commotion of the dance floor around them became muffled to her ears. The press of people surrounding them fell away, giving her the odd and overwhelming impression that they were alone, despite the crowded atmosphere.

She considered that perhaps she'd been doing this as a gesture of comfort, and yet, there had been no conscious decision behind it. Touching him like this felt . . . natural.

Her voice tumbled from between her lips, low and breathy—making it a wonder he was able to hear her at all—as she asked, "I'm sorry, would you like me to stop?"

At last pulling his gaze from her touch to meet her eyes, he swallowed hard. It seemed a few stretched heartbeats passed before he could answer. "No."

She had the oddest sense that she was drifting closer to him. But, no, that . . . that couldn't be so. This was Charlie Weasley before her. He should be stopping her. Or leaning away or . . . or doing anything but seeming like he was drifting closer to her, as well.

Hermione could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. She could see flecks of deep, nearly-purple violet in the blue of his irises. Swallowing hard, she found her gaze searching his face as she asked in a airy whisper, "So are you . . . are you going back to Romania after this?"

His gaze was searching her face as well, it nearly seemed as though they were silently asking each other what was happening between them. He realized he adored the faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose—the one only noticeable when someone was this close to her. "No. The Order needs me here, so . . . I'll probably be sticking around. Just for a bit, anyway."

"Well, then," she said, shaking her head and trying to get her bearings, though she was failing miserably. "I suppose we'll be seeing quite a bit more of each other than we're used to."

He smirked and his brows shot up, deliberately misinterpreting her meaning, just to see her reaction.

With an embarrassed giggle, she brought her hand up to cover her mouth. "I didn't mean that like it sounded, I just meant—"

"I know what you meant, Hermione."Charlie nodded as her hand fell back to that spot she'd been touching on his arm all this time. "I think I'd like it if we could see more of each other."

Her brow furrowed as she found them, once again, starting to drift closer to one another. "How do _you_  mean that?"

That smirk faded, leaving a serious expression in its place as his gaze traced over her lips. "Whichever way you want it to mean."

Hermione felt her eyes closing slowly. Felt the warmth of his body pressing closer to hers. Felt the giddy, rushing anticipation in the pit of her stomach as his lips brushed over hers.

A sudden commotion around them brought them both crashing back to reality. But she couldn't help noticing the way he turned her. The way he pushed her behind him and stepped in front of her before even knowing what was happening.

The way she found her fingers curling into the back of his robes as he stood protectively in front her.

The commotion, it turned out, had been everyone parting to make way for a wispy silver-blue lynx that had bounded into the middle of the festivities. The patronus opened its jaws, and out came the deep, familiar timbre of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"The Ministry has fallen. They are coming."

Hermione felt a chill rock through her at those words. The assembly of guests went into a panic, people bolting in different directions, utter chaos happening around them in a blink. This was  _really_  happening!

The next thing she knew, she was being tugged backward, away from Charlie.

He turned to grab hold of her, only to find her gone. Looking about, his gaze frantic, he saw 'Cousin Barny' pulling her by the hand. Ron, too—he felt a little jab of guilt at the worried expression in his little brother's face as he looked at the witch they were dragging along.

She was better with them . . . . Safer with them.

Charlie nodded reluctantly. It was better this way, a thing that never was.

But then, she looked back at him. For a pained and frozen moment, their gazes held. She offered him a sad little slip of a grin as she was tugged further from him, still.

"I'll be okay," she said, mouthing the words. "Go!"

Nodding once more, he granted her a sad, small smile of his own in response before he turned to look at the place where the lynx had stood just seconds ago. The phantom creature was gone now that it had delivered its message.

And Charlie cursed the very air in its place. If it got back to the Dark Lord that everyone had been warned and he hadn't tried to rush back to Malfoy Manor and tell Voldemort, himself, there would be hell to pay.

Muttering angrily under his breath, he slipped out amid the tumult, making his way to a safe spot from which to Apparrate.

* * *

Hermione shook her head as she sat at the table in a tacky Muggle café, a pleasantly warm paper cup of cappuccino clutched between her hands. Everything had happened so quickly. She couldn't help but wonder, would she have noticed the commotion in the tent sooner, had she not been distracted with the wizard who—

"Move!"

Her body reacted to Harry's shouted command before she even thought to follow, falling to her side beneath the rim of the table as she pulled her wand. Sometimes, her combative reflexes frightened her. She was a witch, not a bloody soldier!

She peered over the tabletop, gauging their enemies' positions. Unexpectedly, another chill like that moment after Kingsley's declaration stole across her skin. She found herself staring into the dark eyes of Antonin Dolohov.

The very same Death Eater whose mysterious curse had almost taken her life just a little over a year ago.

Gritting her teeth, she shot off a Stunner, not surprised when he deflected and fired back. She dropped back into hiding, ducking the blast, but not before managing a quick inventory of the scene. Harry and Ron were locked in combat of their own with that blond brute,  _Something_  Rowle. He seemed to be firing wild at his two opponents, but his explosive spells were hitting near enough that they had their hands full dodging his attacks.

She was on her own.

She had Antonin Dolohov to herself. And he wasn't getting away from her. Uttering a soft, determined little sound of anger in the back of her throat, she flicked her wand at herself, casting a quick shielding charm. It would only last a few seconds, she knew, but that was all she needed.

Popping out of hiding, she stormed directly up to Dolohov. His dark eyes were wide with shock as he fired spell after spell at her while she approached.

Counting under her breath, she waited. Waited until the charm dropped, she wanted him to catch the full force of her spell, unhindered by the shield.  _"_ Three . . . two . . . one. _Bombarda!"_

Her attack sent the Dark wizard flying across the café. He hit the wall at the back _hard_  and slid to floor. Blinking a few times as she got her frenzied breathing under control, she looked to Harry and Ron. They'd apparently just subdued Rowle, and were looking at her in shock. Just as much shock as Dolohov had shown at her bold maneuver.

She managed a triumphant grin as she made her way to them—they stood equidistance between where Dolohov had landed and Rowle had dropped.

Forcing a gulp down her throat, she looked from one Death Eater to the other, and back. "What should we do?"

"We can't let them tell anyone they found us, but killing them isn't an option."

Ron gaped at Harry and shook his head. "Isn't it?"

Harry shot Ron an angry look, speaking through clenched teeth. "No. I _won't_  become like him. What about . . . what about a memory charm? We'll make them forget they found us here."

"Okay," Ron said, though there was reluctance in his voice. "How 'bout it, 'Mione?"

She dragged her gaze from Dolohov, trying to ignore how amazing it had felt to take him down after what he'd done to her. "Hmm?"

Meeting her eyes, Ron reached out. Brushing some wayward hairs that had clung to her cheek away with his fingers, he explained, "You're the best at charms. You should do it."

Nodding, she forced another gulp as she raised her wand at Dolohov. She'd recognized that Ron's gesture just now had a certain intimacy to it that he'd never shown before. A certain closeness. She might . . . she might even call it romantic.

For so long, she'd hoped for some sign from Ronald Weasley that he felt this way toward her.

Yet, all she could think about as she worked the charm on Dolohov and Rowle, in turn, was the look of worry in a set of violet-flecked blue eyes as she was pulled away. All she could think about was that brush of _Charlie_  Weasley's lips over hers before their world had turned upside down on them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Charlie jerked awake, the sound of Rowle's anguished screams still in his head. Sitting up, he pushed aside the blanket and braced his elbows on his knees. As he drew in a deep, shaky breath, he tried to not remember the scene.

Weeks had drifted past since that night. A test of his mettle, he supposed, that Voldemort had made him stand by, idle, as Draco had been used as a weapon. The Malfoy heir looked sick and anguished, himself, as he'd struck Thorfinn Rowle with the horrific, staggering effects of the Cruciatus Curse. Again and again, under the threat of receiving worse from the Dark Lord if he did not comply.

Charlie hadn't known if the scent of something burning—that smell that made him wonder if too much of this torment might actually start to sear the victim from within—was his imagination or truly something that was happening to the hulking blond wizard writhing on the floor in agony. He wouldn't be wholly surprised to learn that it was.

At some point, the memory charm cast on Rowle had broken, and they'd learned it had been cast by—as the Death Eaters and their terrible leader called her—Potter's Mudblood. Charlie'd hid well a proud grin to know she'd given Rowle and Dolohov such trouble. From the sound of it, she'd _really_  gone after the Russian bloke with something of a fury.

Just as he'd been proud, he'd felt sickened that they had come so close to capture. And now, all this time had passed without word as to where they were or how they were holding up. Nothing beyond the night that Remus had stormed in, beside himself after some row with Harry at Grimmauld Place.

Of course, as Remus told it, she'd tried to calm the situation, but neither of them would listen. Not that he couldn't understand Remus' concerns about his wife and what his child's future might hold, but Harry's argument had a point, too. The younger wizard had been a bit too rough about it, but Charlie hadn't been there, he could only assume tensions were high as it was.

After he'd heard about three people infiltrating the Ministry, he'd known it was probably them. He'd gone to Grimmauld Place, but aside from some of their things, his brother, Harry, and Hermione were nowhere to be found. The house had seemed ransacked, though, so clearly someone had been there searching for something.

Sighing, he stood and stretched, forcing the last bits of fuzzy, dreamed memory from his mind. He hated that he couldn't fully purge the scene of Rowle's torture from his mind. Even watching one's enemy in such torment was chilling, he supposed.

He swallowed hard, the bridge of his nose crinkling. Chilling, _and_  nauseating.

"Oh, you're awake," Dad's voice drifted in through the open doorway of the safehouse's third bedroom.

Nodding, Charlie started pulling on his robes. Simple, lightly scuffed and worn black leather, they looked like something a Muggle might wear on a night out to one of those places with dark, pulsing music that could be heard outside the walls of the building.

"What time is it?"

"Well, you slept through lunch," Arthur said with a shrug, looking at his son with a small, regretful smile, "but then you did get in so very late last night."

Biting his lip, Charlie nodded once more. "I know." Between his own agenda and sneaking off to the Dark Lord's side to insist that no one knew where the trio had vanished to, he didn't have a whole lot of time for keeping to a normal, human, sleep schedule.

"You've got to stop doing this to yourself." Arthur shook his head. "I know they're young, but they can take care of themselves. We have to trust that."

"I just want to know they're safe." Never had Charlie Weasley spoken truer words in his life. He didn't care where they were, exactly, he just needed to assure himself that none of the _loyal_  Death Eaters learned of where they were, either. He did have one option left to him, but he hadn't wanted to use it unless it became truly necessary.

Still, the image of Hermione being tugged away from him amid the chaos that had ended Bill and Fleur's wedding reception kept floating back to him.

Wait . . . there was something . . . . What day was it? He was forgetting something, he was sure of it.

"C'mon," Dad said, patting his son's shoulder. "Let's get you something to eat."

His stomach still a bit unsettled from the memory of miserable shrieks and dreadful scent of possible internal charring, Charlie winced. "Um, no. I think I'm going to go for a walk, actually."

Arthur slumped at that. "Charlie, you know it's not safe."

"I'll stick to the Muggle neighborhoods. And I'll keep a low profile, promise. I just need some air, is all."

Though it took a solid ten minutes of convincing, eventually Charlie grabbed his bag and made his way outside. He quickly wound through to the block he'd had in mind and started along, slowing to a casual pace. As predicted, the Muggles didn't seem to pay him any mind. That was good.

One of the shops he liked showcased artful silver jewelry in the window. Sometimes, the pieces were even carved or and twisted into dragons.

As he stared through the glass, he noted a display on the wall beyond the counter. Digital, Hermione had called that once, when she'd shown him a wristwatch that had the same barred numbers. It was already well into the evening. But beside the time was the date.

19th of September.

Pursing his lips, he nodded. Eyeing one piece of jewelry, in particular, he entered the shop.

Oh, sure, when he exited moments later with the item in a sleek little velvet pouch, he thought perhaps he'd been getting a bit too comfy with the Death Eaters that he'd thought nothing of using a memory charm on the Muggle man behind the counter. But he needed a present, and it was hardly as though he could be seen running about Diagon Alley under the circumstances.

The Order didn't know he was a Death Eater, the Dark Lord was tricked into believing he was a spy within the Order's ranks, and not being in the open as his other servants could be was part of  _that_ role. Bloody mess that was if he thought on it too long.

Ducking into an alley, he took a moment to gather his thoughts. Once more, he came back to that one way he, alone, had to reach them. Well, to reach her, anyway. Something he'd not tried, yet. He'd cast a few very specific spells in the wake of Ginny's possession, thinking how useful it could be under certain circumstances. But it was hardly legal magic—the Light might disapprove, the Dark would take advantage.

It wouldn't tell him where they were, but it would let him get a message to her.

Looking at the velvet pouch, he wondered why he'd bothered, but he wanted to her have something. So stupid. During whatever was going on, her birthday was probably the furthest thing from her mind.

* * *

Hermione slipped out of the tent, swallowing past a lump in her throat.

"Hey, where are you going?"

Looking over at Harry whose turn it was to stand watch, she shrugged, forcing a tired smile. "Just for a walk. Don't worry, I won't go far. Ron's asleep, finally. I just want some air."

Nodding, though he appeared reluctant to let her go, he simply said, "Okay. Be careful." He didn't pay much mind to the book in her arms. Hermione and books, what was new, after all?

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Always." Turning on her heel she walked off, keeping her pace steady. When she was far enough from the tent, she ducked into a thick stand of trees.

Pressing her back to one of them, she let out a shuddering breath. Oh, sure, she knew there was so much going on, so many more important things. She  _knew_ that they probably hadn't even realized, the days blending into one another as they were, but even being so realistic about it, even being so cognizant of their circumstances . . . .

Her two best friends in the entire world not even mentioning that it was her birthday today  _stung_.

When she'd awoken that morning, she'd not thought much of it. As the day wore on, she thought sure one of them might say something, even if just to lament that it was miserable to have a birthday during something like this, because it was sure to be glossed over and forgotten. But now, night was falling and not a bloody word from either of them.

Oh, she knew it was selfish, but everything had been so dark and heavy as of late. She couldn't help hoping for just a little bit of light right now.

As Harry had relieved her from standing watch, and Ron had drifted to sleep, Hermione'd heard it. Scratching from inside one of her books. A notebook she'd taken from the Weasley house—with Molly's permission, of course—in case she'd needed an extra one.

How odd.

When she'd opened it, wand drawn on a bundle of paper and leather and feeling quite like an idiot, she found her name scrawled inside. Her brows pinching together, she'd only stared at it for a moment before further words formed.

_Don't panic, it's Charlie._

"Charlie?" she'd breathed his name in a happy whisper, that near-kiss they'd shared the last time they'd seen one another flashing through her mind.

So much had happened since then that it seemed a lifetime ago.

She didn't know how she'd explain this to Harry or Ron if they saw it. They were both so on edge, so paranoid lately that she couldn't be certain what they'd make of another 'talking' journal. Stuffing a capped ink bottle and a quill up the sleeve of her sweater, she'd hugged the book to her and slipped from the tent.

Now, in the mixed light from the setting sun and rising moon, she settled on ground and opened the book in her lap. Retrieving the ink and quill, she hurriedly wrote out a reply.

_How do I know this is Charlie?_

_Because it's my notebook my mum let you take, you little thief._

Her eyebrows shot up as she laughed.  _Is that supposed to be proof?_

_You're not the only one who dabbles in not-necessarily legal magics for safety purposes. I spelled two books as last-resort form of communication. Never got to test them out, though. You've got one, I've got the other. It wouldn't have mattered which one you took. Hell of a trial run, I suppose._

Chewing at her bottom lip, she asked again,  _Proof, please?_

_I almost didn't make it in time for my own brother's wedding because I was putting salve on my burn._

She hadn't told anyone else about that. And from the way he'd slipped quietly back into the tent just as the wedding was starting, she was certain that neither had he.

Feeling almost embarrassed for doubting him, but knowing he understood her caution, she finally wrote back,  _Hi, Charlie_.

_Happy birthday, Hermione_.

She covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a gasp.  _You remembered?_

_Almost missed it. Didn't even realize what day it was for a bit, there._

Her shoulders slumping, she nodded.  _Lot of that going around._

_I got you something. Don't know when I'll be able to get it to you, though._

God, she wanted to see him. Closing her eyes, she forced a gulp down her throat. Maybe . . . maybe if it were only for a few minutes.  _Where are you?_

_Some-bloody-where in Muggle London._

_You're in Muggle London?_

_Less chance of being spotted by anyone working for You Know Who._

Frowning thoughtfully, she nodded. That made sense.  _Where?_

_Fucked if I know._  There was a pause in the writing. Was he really walking about jotting something down in a journal? Well, she couldn't say that would be incredibly conspicuous, Muggles did that sort of thing all the time.  _Milkwood Road? And you make fun of Wizarding names for places. For shame._

She snickered, feeling lighter and happier than she had in weeks. Biting her lip, she looked back around the tree. Harry was still there, still looking ready to kill something or jump out of his own skin, all at once.

It would only be for a few moments. It was dangerous and it was stupid what she was thinking, but she was sure that between Harry's temper being all over the place and Ron being so increasingly sour with each passing day, she was slowly going mad.

_Look around, do you see a park nearby?_

Another delay before he answered.  _Actually, yeah_.

Drawing in a steadying breath, she nodded to herself.  _I'll meet you just inside the entrance._

_What?! Hermione, no!_

_It'll only be for a few minutes. I promise. Please don't tell me no._

When he didn't protest again, she knew she'd won the argument. Capping the ink bottle, she stowed it and the quill—thank God she didn't care about this particular sweater that much—back inside her sleeve and Apparated.

* * *

Though he was prepared for her arrival, he couldn't help starting as she popped into existence barely a meter from him. Just as fast as she appeared, she stepped up to him, grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him away from the entrance, out of easy sight of passersby.

Before he could say anything, she threw herself on him, hugging him much the same as she had before the wedding. His eyes drifted shut and a sigh rumbled out of him as he closed his arms around her.

"Missed me?" he asked, a breathy chuckle edging his words.

Sniffling, she nodded. "You're the only one who remembered it's my birthday."

At the sound of her tear-thickened voice, he set her on her feet, holding her back enough that he could look into her face. "Oh, my God. You're crying."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, I just . . . God, I feel so weak and stupid. Worrying about my bloody birthday when so much is going on."

"Shh, shh," he said, wiping at her cheeks with his palm. "Don't ever say something that idiotic. Having emotions doesn't make you weak. You're one of the strongest people I know."

Before she knew it, she was babbling at him. She needed to, though. She  _had_  to talk to someone who wasn't likely to tear her head for it. "I hate it. I hate all of it. Ron and Harry, they're both so miserable all the time. Neither one of them seems to care if  _I'm_  miserable. They just expect me to keep on, or something, and they don't realize how hard it is,  _or_  how hard they're making it!"

Charlie smirked, holding her gaze. "I've heard all the stories of everything you've all been through together. You've  _always_ been there, Hermione. Always been strong for them, even with all those tears. Problem with being the strong one is that it gets taken for granted. People expect you to be strong so much they don't even realize they expect if from you."

She nodded. That certainly sounded like her problem. She'd always hated crying, which seemed silly given how often she seemed to do it. No matter the cause—anger, frustration, pain, fear—it always made her feel as if strong was the last thing anyone would call her.

"I'm just a little bit sick of it," she murmured with a small, sad laugh.

"I know. But you've got to be that for them for a little bit longer. Just until this is all over." He grinned. "I dread to think of their chances without you."

A surprised laugh bubbled out of her, then. "So do I. You, um, you know what?"

"Hmm?"

Sniffling once more, she bit her lip for a quiet moment as she stared up at him. "At . . . at the reception. When there was all that commotion . . . you tried to protect me. It seems like no one else ever thinks to protect me, everyone's always so sure I can take care of myself. And I can, sure, but I just . . . I just wanted to let you know that I liked that."

Charlie nodded. "Me, too."

"It made me feel safe."

"I'm glad I could—"

His words were cut off as she jumped up on her toes, closing the distance between them. Her mouth pressing to his, he tightened his hold on her, keeping her against him as he tilted his head. He parted her lips with the tip of his tongue and then darted inside, tasting and teasing.

They broke the kiss, both breathing just a bit heavy despite how gentle it had been.

Clearing his throat softly, he managed to say again in a whisper, "I'm glad I could make you feel that way."

Hermione nodded. That kiss . . . .  _God,_  that had been the sweetest, most romantic thing ever. She was glad she'd done it. Who knew when they might see each other again? Of course, having the notebooks meant she actually might be able to get away and see him, again.

Using them to keep tabs on each other would've seemed the wiser course of action under different circumstances. However,  _not_  sharing information about her movements or the Orders' was safer for everyone, and they both knew it.

"I should go," she said with a nod, a pout she simply couldn't hide betraying her feelings.

"Here." Fishing about in his robes, he came up with a black velvet pouch. "Happy birthday."

Dropping her arms from around his neck, she took the pouch from his hands. Opening it, she slid free a silver dragon, curled in a loose half-circle.

"Oh my God! Charlie, it's beautiful," she said as he slipped it from her hands and coiled it carefully around the back of neck so the head and the tip of the tail curled around the front to drape over her collarbones.

Smiling, he kissed her again before breathing the word against her lips, "Go."

Her eyes were still closed when she appeared back in the same spot from where she'd Disapparated what could've only been a few minutes earlier.

Sniffling all over again, Hermione wiped at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. Collecting herself, she carefully tucked Charlie's birthday present beneath the collar of her sweater and wound back around the trees to start toward the tent.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked as she drew closer.

Smiling almost wistfully, she nodded. She hated that she was keeping this from them, but there was simply too much else going on. For the first time in so long, however, she was okay.

Better than okay.

And pretty sure she was falling  _hard_ for Charlie Weasley.


End file.
